Ragnarok - An Independent Narrative Inspired By Norse Mythology

Below is an excerpt of an academic piece of original creative writing. It is an imaginative retelling of original Norse Mythology like you have never seen before, averaging 11k words, produced in April 2020.

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“Lying does not fit you, Brother. Surely it is nobler to be honest with your feelings, no?”

Tyr muttered back, and Thor grumbled something beneath his breath in response that Tyr chose not to pay any mind to. A swear, curse, or baseless threat, most likely. They’d been in this conversation many times before. This song and dance led them to twist and turn in circles until one grew too dizzy from holding on, leaving the conversation unfinished. And behind the manly exterior of dried blood and matted hair, Tyr could see the vulnerability and weakness that lingered beneath the surface and the fear that stemmed from such. It always pained him, hearing the small children voice their desires to be just like Thor. If you knew the man personally, which was definitely a rare privilege, you might just be able to see through the slight cracks in his facade, to where centuries of pain and rage and fear amalgamated into a toxic and slow poison. It was a tragic fate to resign yourself to. Often, when you separate the mind and soul, the latter rots and shrivels, and the mind becomes nothing but a shell.

Jormungandr shifted in response to the thanks and released the boat before slowly leaving to circle itself around the small island. Tyr turned back to Thor then, watching as his fingers laced themselves together and rested over his crotch, the calloused fingertips of his thumbs rubbing soft circles into the pale flesh of his hands. His head was dipped a little; the deep pools of light that resided where his eyes should be were duller and less vibrant. Tyr gently settled a hand on the back of his neck, ignoring the soft jump it caused. Lowering to crouch beside the other, his hand still residing on the nape of the other’s neck, he gently ducked his head down to try to catch a glimpse of the other’s expression, his chest constricting at the broken, softened features the other had been trying to hide.

“You are weary and afraid. Weak-”

“Tyr-” He could feel the panic in his voice, but Tyr cut him off before he could get so much as another syllable out.

“-And that is okay.” The god squeezed the back of the other’s neck ever so slightly, offering reassurance. “We have already lost a great many of our friends and families. Including your wife, Sif. Have you allowed yourself time to grieve?”

“Tyr, I do not wish to speak of her now.” Thor tried, but he could hear the soft crack in his voice. The gentle give that betrayed his best attempts to suffocate the creeping sorrow.

“Why? Is speaking her name like poison? Do you feel your heart crack? Can you feel it pour molten sorrow through your veins? How it makes you shudder from the sheer chill?”

“Tyr-”

“Can you feel it set over your organs? Make your limbs grow so heavy that you fear you shall never move again? Does it hurt to breathe?”

“Yes!” Thor snapped, and the sky above them cracked as lightning cut across the grey, brightening their world for moments before it was taken from them. His voice had boomed over the world around them, and he threatened to stand, but the hand tensed to keep him in place. They did make eye contact then as Thor looked up, a furious expression on his face at the other, but Tyr was not phased. No, he never was with Thor. Moving his hand to the other’s shoulder, he leaned in close. So close, he could feel the other’s breath ghosting over his skin.

“Good! Let it. Let it hurt; let it bring you to your knees! For the love of the Norns, allow yourself to feel! Please, Brother, engage with the pain as a motive.” Tyr’s voice shocked the god, his eyes gently widening as he flinched back but could not move too much due to the other’s grip on his shoulder. Then a silence befell the world. The sky had quietened now and was so for a few moments before the soft patter of rain filled the air, gently rousing the sleeping god from his slumber, a soft wince of disdain leaving his lips at the sudden damp they’d found themselves in.

Thor stood rather suddenly, being the first to step out of the boat into the water, wading through to the shore. Vidar gave a gentle frown and watched as he left before turning his attention to Tyr with an inquisitive expression.

“Is he…?” He trailed off because asking if Thor was okay was like asking if the oxygen was still all around them. It was often a case of knowing it rather than seeing it. And asking if he was angry was pointless, as the god was always in some form of angry mood. Tyr just gave a gentle nod to the questioning, offering a short yet suitable answer.

“He is okay.”